CHAPTER VIII.

Common Sense. What is the end of punishment as regards the individual

punished?

Custom. To make him better!

Common Sense. How do you punish young offenders who are (from their

youth) peculiarly alive to example, and whom it is therefore more easy

either to ruin or reform than the matured?

Custom. We send them to the House of Correction, to associate with the

d--dest rascals in the country!

Dialogue between Common Sense and Custom.--Very scarce.

As it was rather late in the day when Paul made his first entree at

Bridewell, he passed that night in the “receiving-room.” The next

morning, as soon as he had been examined by the surgeon and clothed in

the customary uniform, he was ushered, according to his classification,

among the good company who had been considered guilty of that

compendious offence, “a misdemeanour.” Here a tall gentleman marched up

to him, and addressed him in a certain language, which might be called

the freemasonry of flash, and which Paul, though he did not comprehend

verbatim, rightly understood to be an inquiry whether he was a thorough

rogue and an entire rascal. He answered half in confusion, half in

anger; and his reply was so detrimental to any favourable influence he

might otherwise have exercised over the interrogator, that the latter

personage, giving him a pinch in the ear, shouted out, “Ramp, ramp!” and

at that significant and awful word, Paul found himself surrounded in a

trice by a whole host of ingenious tormentors. One pulled this member,

another pinched that; one cuffed him before, and another thrashed him

behind. By way of interlude to this pleasing occupation, they stripped

him of the very few things that in his change of dress he had retained.

One carried off his handkerchief, a second his neckcloth, and a

third, luckier than either, possessed himself of a pair of carnelian

shirt-buttons, given to Paul as a gage d'amour by a young lady who

sold oranges near the Tower. Happily, before this initiatory

process--technically termed “ramping,” and exercised upon all new-comers

who seem to have a spark of decency in them--had reduced the bones

of Paul, who fought tooth and nail in his defence, to the state of

magnesia, a man of a grave aspect, who had hitherto plucked his oakum

in quiet, suddenly rose, thrust himself between the victim and the

assailants, and desired the latter, like one having authority, to leave

the lad alone, and go and be d--d.

This proposal to resort to another place for amusement, though uttered

in a very grave and tranquil manner, produced that instantaneous

effect which admonitions from great rogues generally work upon little.

Messieurs the ravmpers ceased from their amusements; and the ringleader

of the gang, thumping Paul heartily on the back, declared he was a

capital fellow, and it was only a bit of a spree like, which he hoped

had not given any offence.

Paul, still clenching his fist, was about to answer in no pacific mood,

when a turnkey, who did not care in the least how many men he locked up

for an offence, but who did not at all like the trouble of looking after

any one of his flock to see that the offence was not committed, now

suddenly appeared among the set; and after scolding them for the

excessive plague they were to him, carried off two of the poorest of the

mob to solitary confinement. It happened, of course, that these two had

not taken the smallest share in the disturbance. This scene over, the

company returned to picking oakum; the tread-mill, that admirably just

invention by which a strong man suffers no fatigue and a weak one loses

his health for life, not having been then introduced into our excellent

establishments for correcting crime. Bitterly and with many dark and

wrathful feelings, in which the sense of injustice at punishment

alone bore him up against the humiliations to which he was

subjected,--bitterly and with a swelling heart, in which the thoughts

that lead to crime were already forcing their way through a soil

suddenly warmed for their growth, did Paul bend over his employment. He

felt himself touched on the arm; he turned, and saw that the gentleman

who had so kindly delivered him from his tormentors was now sitting next

to him. Paul gazed long and earnestly upon his neighbour, struggling

with the thought that he had beheld that sagacious countenance in

happier times, although now, alas! it was altered not only by time

and vicissitudes but by that air of gravity which the cares of manhood

spread gradually over the face of the most thoughtless,--until all doubt

melted away, and he exclaimed,--

“Is that you, Mr. Tomlinson? How glad I am to see you here!”

“And I,” returned the quondam murderer for the newspapers, with a nasal

twang, “should be very glad to see myself anywhere else.”

Paul made no answer; and Augustus continued,--

“'To a wise man all places are the same,'--so it has been said. I don't

believe it, Paul,--I don't believe it. But a truce to reflection! I

remembered you the moment I saw you, though you are surprisingly grown.

How is my friend MacGrawler?--still hard at work for 'The Asinaeum'?”

“I believe so,” said Paul, sullenly, and hastening to change the

conversation; “but tell me, Mr. Tomlinson, how came you hither? I

heard you had gone down to the North of England to fulfil a lucrative

employment.”

“Possibly! The world always misrepresents the actions of those who are

constantly before it.”

“It is very true,” said Paul; “and I have said the same thing myself

a hundred times in 'The Asinaeum,' for we were never too lavish of our

truths in that magnificent journal. 'T is astonishing what a way we made

three ideas go.”

“You remind me of myself and my newspaper labours,” rejoined Augustus

Tomlinson. “I am not quite sure that I had so many as three ideas to

spare; for, as you say, it is astonishing how far that number may go,

properly managed. It is with writers as with strolling players,--the

same three ideas that did for Turks in one scene do for Highlanders in

the next; but you must tell me your history one of these days, and you

shall hear mine.”

“I should be excessively obliged to you for your confidence,” said Paul,

“and I doubt not but your life must be excessively entertaining. Mine,

as yet, has been but insipid. The lives of literary men are not fraught

with adventure; and I question whether every writer in 'The Asinaeum'

has not led pretty nearly the same existence as that which I have

sustained myself.”

In conversation of this sort our newly restored friends passed the

remainder of the day, until the hour of half-past four, when the

prisoners are to suppose night has begun, and be locked up in their

bedrooms. Tomlinson then, who was glad to re-find a person who had known

him in his beaux jours, spoke privately to the turnkey; and the result

of the conversation was the coupling Paul and Augustus in the same

chamber, which was a sort of stone box, that generally accommodated

three, and was--for we have measured it, as we would have measured the

cell of the prisoner of Chillon--just eight feet by six.

We do not intend, reader, to indicate, by broad colours and in long

detail, the moral deterioration of our hero; because we have found, by

experience, that such pains on our part do little more than make thee

blame our stupidity instead of lauding our intention. We shall therefore

only work out our moral by subtle hints and brief comments; and we shall

now content ourselves with reminding thee that hitherto thou hast seen

Paul honest in the teeth of circumstances. Despite the contagion of the

Mug, despite his associates in Fish Lane, despite his intimacy with Long

Ned, thou hast seen him brave temptation, and look forward to some other

career than that of robbery or fraud. Nay, even in his destitution, when

driven from the abode of his childhood, thou hast observed how, instead

of resorting to some more pleasurable or libertine road of life, he

betook himself at once to the dull roof and insipid employments of

MacGrawler, and preferred honestly earning his subsistence by the sweat

of his brain to recurring to any of the numerous ways of living on

others with which his experience among the worst part of society must

have teemed, and which, to say the least of them, are more alluring to

the young and the adventurous than the barren paths of literary labour.

Indeed, to let thee into a secret, it had been Paul's daring ambition

to raise himself into a worthy member of the community. His present

circumstances, it may hereafter be seen, made the cause of a great

change in his desires; and the conversation he held that night with the

ingenious and skilful Augustus went more towards fitting him for the

hero of this work than all the habits of his childhood or the scenes of

his earlier youth. Young people are apt, erroneously, to believe that it

is a bad thing to be exceedingly wicked. The House of Correction is so

called, because it is a place where so ridiculous a notion is invariably

corrected. The next day Paul was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Lobkins,

who had heard of his situation and its causes from the friendly

Dummie, and who had managed to obtain from Justice Burnflat an order of

admission. They met, Pyramus and Thisbe like, with a wall, or rather

an iron gate, between them; and Mrs. Lobkins, after an ejaculation of

despair at the obstacle, burst weepingly into the pathetic reproach,--

“O Paul, thou hast brought thy pigs to a fine market!”

“'T is a market proper for pigs, dear dame,” said Paul, who, though with

a tear in his eye, did not refuse a joke as bitter as it was inelegant;

“for, of all others, it is the spot where a man learns to take care of

his bacon.”

“Hold your tongue!” cried the dame, angrily. “What business has you to

gabble on so while you are in limbo?”

“Ah, dear dame,” said Paul, “we can't help these rubs and stumbles on

our road to preferment!”

“Road to the scragging-post!” cried the dame. “I tells you, child,

you'll live to be hanged in spite of all my care and 'tention to you,

though I hedicated you as a scholard, and always hoped as how you would

grow up to be an honour to your--”

“King and country,” interrupted Paul. “We always say, honour to king and

country, which means getting rich and paying taxes. 'The more taxes a

man pays, the greater honour he is to both,' as Augustus says. Well,

dear dame, all in good time.”

“What! you is merry, is you? Why does not you weep? Your heart is as

hard as a brickbat. It looks quite unnatural and hyena-like to be so

devil-me-careish!” So saying, the good dame's tears gushed forth with

the bitterness of a despairing Parisina.

“Nay, nay,” said Paul, who, though he suffered far more intensely, bore

the suffering far more easily than his patroness, “we cannot mend the

matter by crying. Suppose you see what can be done for me. I dare say

you may manage to soften the justice's sentence by a little 'oil of

palms;' and if you can get me out before I am quite corrupted,--a day or

two longer in this infernal place will do the business,--I promise you

that I will not only live honestly myself, but with people who live in

the same manner.”

“Buss me, Paul,” said the tender Mrs. Lobkins, “buss me--Oh! but I

forgits the gate. I'll see what can be done. And here, my lad, here's

summat for you in the mean while,--a drop o' the cretur, to preach

comfort to your poor stomach. Hush! smuggle it through, or they'll see

you.”

Here the dame endeavoured to push a stone bottle through the bars of the

gate; but, alas! though the neck passed through, the body refused, and

the dame was forced to retract the “cretur.” Upon this, the kind-hearted

woman renewed her sobbings; and so absorbed was she in her grief that

seemingly quite forgetting for what purpose she had brought the bottle,

she applied it to her own mouth, and consoled herself with that elixir

vitae which she had originally designed for Paul.

This somewhat restored her; and after a most affecting scene the dame

reeled off with the vacillating steps natural to woe, promising, as she

went, that if love or money could shorten Paul's confinement, neither

should be wanting. We are rather at a loss to conjecture the exact

influence which the former of these arguments, urged by the lovely

Margaret, might have had upon Justice Burnflat.

When the good dame had departed, Paul hastened to repick his oakum and

rejoin his friend. He found the worthy Augustus privately selling little

elegant luxuries, such as tobacco, gin, and rations of daintier viands

than the prison allowed; for Augustus, having more money than the rest

of his companions, managed, through the friendship of the turnkey, to

purchase secretly, and to resell at about four hundred per cent, such

comforts as the prisoners especially coveted.

[A very common practice at the Bridewell. The Governor at the

Coldbath-Fields, apparently a very intelligent and active man, every

way fitted for a most arduous undertaking, informed us, in the only

conversation we have had the honour to hold with him, that he

thought he had nearly or quite destroyed in his jurisdiction this

illegal method of commerce.]

“A proof,” said Augustus, dryly, to Paul, “that by prudence and exertion

even in those places where a man cannot turn himself he may manage to

turn a penny.”